Without a Safety Net
by zupafly
Summary: How did Grissom and Sara become a couple? What made Grissom acknowledge his feelings? Sorry for the lack of updates I have been exceedingly busy! Thanks to all who have reviewed!
1. Chapter 1

Handing the young man his ticket, Grissom claimed his preferred seat at the back of the roller coaster. Tonight he traveled to the Stratosphere Hotel, hoping the famous High Roller would provide him with his much needed respite from the lab. As the world's highest roller coaster at 909 feet, the High Roller promised exhilaration, amusement, and a false sense of danger. For Grissom, it promised much more.

As the cushioned metal descended on his chest, he felt comforted by the clasping noise that signaled the safety device was secure. Grissom closed his eyes as the ride began its ascent, each click of the track increasing the anticipation of the drop that was to come. Grissom enjoyed this feeling, experiencing anxiety and fear without all of the circumstances that warranted these feelings. Here he could feel without consequences.

As the ride neared the top of its first peak, Grissom allowed emotions to take him over: anger, guilt, shame, love, fear –everything that he couldn't feel or express anywhere else.

Nick had been kidnapped, trapped in a box, thinking he would die. Everything had changed. He had changed. After years of calm reserve and avoiding all emotional attachment to his team, he had cracked. A case had affected him.

Anger. Nick could have been killed, and Grissom didn't know who else was responsible for his kidnapping. He was at a dead end.

Guilt. He could have prevented this. He didn't try hard enough; he didn't work hard enough. Nick could have _died_.

Shame. He was a seasoned CSI, trained to separate his emotions from the job. Grissom was a rock; he couldn't be affected. Or, at least, he thought so.

Love. When did he begin thinking of Nicky as a son? How could he be so unprofessional?

Fear. The team -his family-they were all afraid. Grissom was supposed to support them, and be the one who held them all together. But he had been afraid as well. What good was he if he couldn't hold his team together?

Just as he felt as though he would be overwhelmed by these emotions the coaster made its rapid descent, his body trying to make a getaway from his feelings in a metal cart traveling 35mph. It was only these times, in the air, that Grissom allowed himself the luxury of uncontrolled feeling.

"_I wish I was like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything."_

The words replayed themselves over and over in his head, and Grissom couldn't help wondering how a statement could be so true and yet so false at the same time.

Tonight was different. Normally Grissom could come here and rebalance himself. Normally this ritual rejuvenated him. Tonight, however, he could not find refuge in his normal hiding place; he could not erase the emotions that had plagued him over the last few days. He left the hotel feeling unsettled and dissatisfied. What do you do when your distractions fail you?

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Knocking lightly on the door, Grissom felt as though he was again at the apogee of the roller coaster, only now without a safety net. He took in a quick breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, knowing unconsciously that anything he did would be unlikely to disguise his nervousness.

The door opened, exposing a concerned Sara Sidle, holding a magazine in one hand and a TV remote in the other.

"Griss, what's wrong? Is Nick ok?"

Grissom immediately felt guilty. "Oh, sorry, yes, Nick is fine. I . ." his words trailed off. Grissom stood in her doorway, the heat rising in his neck and face as the silence became more awkward and pronounced.

"Are you all right?" Sara opened the door and gestured for him to come inside, her fear turning to curiosity.

He walked into her apartment cautiously. "I don't know." He stood with his back to her, afraid of what the look on his face might betray. He could feel her stare, could picture her look of concern as she tried to figure out what might bring him to her apartment at such a late hour.

Sara approached him, touched his arm lightly, and led him to her couch. She sat beside him and waited patiently as Grissom collected his thoughts. He appeared disoriented and unsure of himself, a state she rarely saw him in. His eyes looked tired, his hair disheveled, and although it was barely perceptible, he was shaking. He did not meet her gaze as he spoke, just looked at his hands as if they contained the words he was desperately searching for.

"Forensics is my life, Sara. Has always been my life. The decisions I made, the path that I chose, everything has been about the job. I dedicated close to thirty years of my life to my work. It defines me. I thought that it was enough – it has been enough. But now . . ." Grissom stopped abruptly, mustering the courage to look at her. "I don't know what to do, Sara. I feel like I don't have control of my life anymore."

He felt helpless. What was he hoping for? What did he want her to say? He couldn't remember why he had come here, but it suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. He got up to leave.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I shouldn't have come here and intruded. I'll . . ."

Sara reached for his hand, and pulled him gently back down to the couch. "Griss, you have been a good friend to me over the last few months. You have helped me start to come to terms with my past. You have let me confide in you and trust you with things I never thought I would share with anyone. Please, let me return the favor. Please trust me. I want to be there for you."

Grissom couldn't help but warm to Sara's touch. He felt awkward and unsure of himself, but suddenly much more comfortable. Grissom had never thought of himself as someone who needed reassurance, but Sara's words had made him more confident, and he felt as though he could trust her with anything.

"Okay, Sara." He rubbed his left palm against his beard unconsciously, while his right hand remained in Sara's grasp. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I . . . I feel like I can't do my job anymore." There. He had said it.

She looked at him questioningly. "How so?"

"I can't separate my feelings from the work. I have lost my objectivity." He looked into her brown eyes nervously, searching for signs of disappointment. Would she think less of him? Would she be disappointed that he wasn't the man she thought he was? Unable to read her facial expression, he continued. "Nick was taken, and all I could think about was if I would ever see him alive again. I thought about what it would mean for all of us if we didn't find him in time. I wasn't thinking about the evidence, Sara! I was thinking about the loss, the consequences if we didn't find him in time. I couldn't separate my emotions from the case, and Nick could have died because of it! I put him in unnecessary danger." Grissom slid his hand out of Sara's grasp and began massaging his temples with his fingers.

"Grissom, you're forgetting something."

"What?"

"You're human. You're allowed to feel – you're _supposed_ to feel. There's nothing wrong with that." Sara took a deep breath. "You don't have to bury your feelings to be a good CSI or a supervisor. Nick's alive, Grissom. We found him. We were all scared, we were all thinking about what would happen if we didn't get him back. Even with all of this fear we did our jobs and we brought him home."

"Sara, I . . ."

Sara interrupted. "You're not upset just because you think you can't do your job. There's more to it than that."

Grissom was startled. "Excuse me?"

"You're upset because you have feelings about the people around you, and you are angry at yourself for letting it happen."

Grissom was silent as he took in her words. He _was_ angry. She was right. He had let his guard down. He had let this happen. He hadn't been strong enough to keep his feelings at bay. Coming to her apartment tonight was further evidence of that fact. What was he doing here? He shouldn't have become attached to his team, and he certainly should not be in Sara's apartment.

He knew he was attracted to her, but he could rationalize that as simple biology. But being in her apartment, confiding in her, being comforted by her, that was filling an emotional need, not a biological one. He had feelings for her, and yet instead of keeping his distance like usual, he was in her apartment holding her hand. He needed to get out of there.

"I've got to go, Sara."

"Grissom wait . . ."

He ignored her plea and strode across the apartment quickly, reaching for the door handle.

"Griss, why did you come here?"

He stopped. Sara took this opportunity to approach him. She took his hand and turned him around to face her.

"Why did you come here?" She looked deep into his blue eyes, noting her determined reflection.

Standing so close to her, inhaling her perfume, Grissom didn't know what to say. Instead he just stared at her, his eyes memorizing every part of her face. The natural blush of her cheeks, the softness of her skin, the fullness of her lips: they all mesmerized him. He had been feeling on edge the whole evening, knowing he wasn't fully in control of himself. Now was no exception. Almost unconsciously Grissom brought his hand to Sara's face and began tracing her lips with his index finger.

"Griss . . ."

He continued his explorations. He cupped her face in his hand, and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb, enjoying the satin feel of her flesh under his fingers.

"Sara, your skin is so soft." He leaned his face in closer to hers. As he approached her lips with his own, he felt her hand on his chest.

"Grissom, I don't want to do this."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

"Grissom, wait!" Sara followed a suddenly very agile Grissom down the hallway of her apartment building. "You don't understand . . ."

Grissom didn't turn around. "I'm sorry Sara, I . . I have to go," he called behind him. He couldn't turn around and let her see the pain in his eyes. He felt exposed and vulnerable, and he couldn't bear to see the expression of pity he knew was on her face. "Please let me go."

Sara stopped. She wanted to go to him and explain that he didn't understand. She wanted to tell him how she felt, that she was in love with him, but she knew that it wasn't the right time. She turned and ambled down the hallway back to her apartment, closing the door and falling onto the sofa that was still warm from Grissom's presence.

She wanted him. God, she had wanted him for so long. She just couldn't let it happen this way. What if he decided it was a mistake? He was emotional and not thinking clearly. No, he needed to be Grissom: weigh the options, make a decision – decide that he was now ready to be in a relationship. She had already been rejected twice, and it had taken her a long time to get over him after the first time in San Francisco.

San Francisco. Had it really been twelve years? Twelve years since she had fallen in love with Gil Grissom. Of course, there had been other men since, but nothing serious, and they were only vain attempts to get over him. Sara repeatedly vowed she would move on, but there was never anyone who came close to stirring the feelings in her that Grissom did. Gil Grissom was 'the one' – she knew it from the first time she watched him scrutinizing a piece of evidence in the San Francisco Crime Lab. He didn't notice she was in the room. He looked almost boyish as he intently inspected the specimen in his hand. He was intriguing, interesting and brilliant. And handsome. She should have known then that loving this man would be difficult – how could she ever be the focus of his attention? How could he ever put her before his work? Even if she could live with being second best, she knew that Grissom wouldn't allow it. She always knew he had feelings for her. He fought it, tried to hide it, tried to put it behind him, but it was always apparent. He thought that he wasn't – couldn't – be enough for her, and so he wouldn't be with her. He felt that she deserved better. It was the way things were now. It was the way things were back then too.

Sara sighed. How much longer could this go on? She wasn't ready to give him up, and he wasn't ready to let her in. Twelve years. He seemed so vulnerable and open before, like their last night together in California. He had been the one to end it that night. Sara shook the thought away. She wasn't ready to reopen old wounds. She hoped she would be able to speak with Grissom before shift tomorrow so she could explain herself.

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Sara felt the familiar butterflies exciting her stomach as she approached his office. She mentally chastised herself for reacting like a teenager. She was a grown woman.

"Hey." She stood in his office doorway, waiting for the signal that it was ok to enter. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to look casual but failing.

"Sara." Grissom glanced up from his stack of paperwork and motioned her inside, signaling for her to close the door. His eyes looked tired and distant, and Sara could tell that he had slept very little since leaving her apartment.

"I wanted to talk to you before shift so that . . ."

"It's ok, Sara. I wanted to apologize again for my behavior. It won't happen again. It was inappropriate of me…I mean, as your supervisor to… um…" Grissom took his glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Inappropriate? No, Grissom look, I want to explain . . ."

A knock at the door stopped Sara short. Grissom let out a long breath, appearing relieved that he had been saved from having this conversation.

"Come in."

"Hey Boss, sorry to interrupt," Warrick Brown poked his head in Grissom's office and flashed a smile. He immediately sensed the tension in the room. "Um, the new guy is here. He's meeting the guys in the break room."

"The new guy," Grissom said.

Warrick smiled. "Yeah, you know, the CSI Ecklie's bringing in to cover for Nick while he's on leave. Don't tell me – you forgot."

"I didn't forget," Grissom responded, "I consciously let it slip my mind." Grissom stood up out of his seat. "I told Ecklie we'd be fine while Nick was gone, but he thinks we could use some extra hands. I don't know who this guy is or where he is from. All I know is that Ecklie highly recommends him."

"That bodes well," Sara replied. She tried her best to look casual, as if everything was normal and it was another day at the office. She smiled, mostly at Warrick, but she imagined it came out as more of a pained expression than she was intending.

"Well, let's not keep the new guy waiting." Grissom walked passed Sara swiftly. He was careful to avoid her gaze as he left his office, but he could feel her following him closely as the three of them headed toward the break room. It was amazing how much he could feel her presence, even when he couldn't see her. It wasn't necessarily a smell or a sound; he knew whenever she was close - his body and his subconscious reacted before his conscious mind could register she was there. She was almost a part of him, and that scared him more than anything.

Entering the break room, Grissom observed a tall, slender figure shaking hands with Catherine. Grissom couldn't see his face, but felt that there was something oddly familiar about him. The hand holding Catherine's was bronzed and very large. There was the smell of Bvlgari Black in the air, a scent Grissom recognized only for the relevance it once had to a case a couple of months ago. He frowned. No legitimate investigator would wear cologne to work. Who had Ecklie sent to work with them?

When the man turned around, Grissom paled. The past clashed harshly with the present. It couldn't be.

"Jack! What are you doing here?" Sara crossed the room and gave the new member of the team a hug.

Jack smiled warmly at Sara. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"


	3. Chapter 3

San Francisco 1993

"So the lesson we learn from this case is this: never allow biases or prejudgment to cloud the investigation. Always follow the evidence." Grissom scanned the faces of his young audience. Most of the class looked bored, but there were a few students who made eye contact and appeared genuinely interested. _At least it's not a total loss_, he thought. "That concludes the discussion for today. See you Tuesday."

Grissom collected his scattered papers and photos from the podium, revisiting the case he had spent the last hour dissecting. It had been one of his first cases as a CSI, and had taught him a valuable lesson – never try to make the evidence fit a theory, no matter how much you want that theory to be correct. He didn't want to believe a mother could be the murderer of her two children. He wanted her story to be true. Grissom spent days searching for evidence of a "masked man," even when the evidence he found pointed at the woman's guilt. When the evidence changes, so must your theory. It was now his mantra.

"Excuse me? Dr. Grissom?"

Grissom pushed the memories away, and glanced up from his papers to see who had pulled him out of his reverie. It was a tall brunette, hair pulled back in a ponytail, clutching the course textbook as if it contained the meaning of life. _Ah youth_, Grissom thought. She looked at him eagerly, and he noted that she was one of the students who remained awake for most of his lecture.

"Yes?"

"I noticed that you didn't specify office hours on your syllabus. I was hoping I would have the chance to ask you some questions about your lecture today."

_Definitely one of the interested ones_, he thought. "Sure, um, I haven't quite settled into my office yet. If you can ignore the piles of paper and boxes I can chat with you now if you like. Miss?"

"Sidle. Sara Sidle." She extended her hand to him, and Grissom accepted it in his own, shaking firmly.

"Ok, Sara. Follow me to my office."

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Over an hour had passed before Grissom glanced at the clock. He was lost in conversation with his young pupil, who had questioned him incessantly about the case and generated three new questions for every one he answered. He was fascinated by her enthusiasm and eagerness to learn, and appreciated that she didn't just accept what he said as fact. She wanted evidence. She had the mind of an investigator. He was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself; she reminded him of when he was a young CSI. He also recognized that she was beautiful, and found himself enjoying the moments when she smiled or laughed at something he said. He was sure she was just being polite by laughing at his lame jokes, but he felt an attraction to her that made him nervous. She was young and impressionable – he couldn't take advantage of that. Still, he couldn't help but notice the fullness of her lips, the cream colored softness of her skin, and the way she tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear when she laughed.

"I'm sorry Sara, but I have an appointment at the San Francisco Crime Lab in twenty minutes - I am consulting on one of their cases."

Sara looked at the clock. "Is it really five already? I'm sorry I kept you this long Dr. Grissom! I think I get a little carried away sometimes with my questions . . ."

"Not at all. It's not every day I have a student as eager and curious about my work as you are." Grissom chastised himself. He was flirting with a student!

Sara smiled warmly at him. "It's not every day I find a professor as passionate about their work as you are. It makes you a great speaker."

There was an awkward moment, at least awkward for Grissom, as he and Sara stood smiling at each other. Grissom broke eye contact. "Well, I'll see you next week, Miss Sidle."

"Sara, please. And thank you again for taking time to talk with me. I'll see you Tuesday." She paused. "Good-bye."

"Bye Sara." She closed the office door behind her, and Grissom let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

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Grissom rushed down the hallway toward the classroom. He spent the weekend working a case with the SF crime lab, which was in need of his expertise as an entomologist. He had wrapped up the case only a few hours ago, and Grissom neglected to set his alarm before falling into a deep sleep fully-clothed on the sofa of his sublet apartment. Although exhausted he enjoyed being immersed in work, as he found his idle hours spent thinking of Sara. Even though he only spent an hour with her, he was intrigued. She was brilliant and beautiful, and made him feel like he was twenty-five again. But he wasn't twenty-five, and she was one of his students. It was at this point in his thoughts that he tried to push the image of her from his mind, only to find a few minutes of reprieve before his mind drifted back to thoughts of her.

Grissom barreled through the doors of the classroom, not waiting to catch his breath or reach the podium before beginning his lecture. "Today we are going to talk more about evidence collection procedure, and the importance of following protocol and regulations in order to . . ."

"Ahem."

Grissom looked out at the classroom to see only one student sitting in the front row. He gave her a perplexed look.

"Ever heard of the fifteen minute rule?" Sara giggled, and stood up and approached the podium. She leaned against the structure, and took in Grissom's disheveled profile. "Your lecture has been effectively cancelled."

Grissom frowned. "It's barely quarter passed. Where is everyone?"

"If you are over fifteen minutes late, it's assumed that either a.) the lecture has actually been cancelled or b.) you are late, but can't hold anyone accountable for not being here due to your tardiness." Sara smiled playfully. "Can you really expect us restless college students to sit still for fifteen minutes without anything to occupy our time?"

Grissom returned her smile. "If that's true, why are you still here?"

Sara paused, her smile turning to a look of sincerity. "Well, I guess that means I'm either an uncharacteristically non-restless college student, or I am really interested in what you have to say." Sara looked into his eyes for a moment, but quickly turned away and blushed. "Um, I was hoping you could schedule some time to speak with me this week about your experiences as a CSI? I am interested in the field, and I think you would be a great help to me if you have the time?"

"Sure, I'd love to." The words were out of his mouth before he had time to process the implications. _I'd love to?_ _This isn't a date, Gil, it's an appointment with one of your students. _He tried to recover. "I mean, your enthusiasm and inquisitive nature would bring a lot to the field of forensics." He knew it sounded trite.

Sara paused a moment, noting his sudden change in demeanor. "Great. I am sure you have a lot of interesting stories to tell. I thought that maybe since the class was 'cancelled' that you might have time now?" She raised an eye brow at him.

"I, um, well . . ." Grissom couldn't think of any plausible excuse. He had obviously set aside this time for class, so he couldn't say he was busy. He convinced himself that there was no way out of the situation, albeit very quickly. "I don't see why not . . ."

"Excellent. Mind if we go around the corner to the café? I haven't had a chance to fuel up yet today, and I have a two hour lecture on quantum mechanics later. Besides, I imagine you still haven't 'completely settled in' to your office still, right?" She gave him a knowing look, as if they shared an inside joke.

It was true. "Um, sure, that's fine."

The café was a meeting place for students and professors alike, all in search of the caffeine they found necessary to complete a day of intense learning and experience. Gil felt both extremely out of place and at home at the same time. The air was filled with both pretentiousness and ambition, but the décor was soothing and inviting. The walls were painted a deep shade of crimson, and the soft yellow tones of the light played with the shadows on the wall.

"Have you been here before, Dr. Grissom? I know it's a bit of a cliché, but they have cheap coffee and comfy sofas."

Grissom knew they had comfy sofas. He knew this because he was currently seated on one of them, sipping a mocha and trying to look cool and casual despite the fact that his thigh was pressed firmly against Sara's. He had a rather burly man to thank for that who, in commandeering the third cushion on the couch, had forced Sara to almost sit in Gil's lap to make room for him.

"No, this is my first time. I do like the warm atmosphere in here, though." _It's a little too warm_, he thought.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a mocha man," she said, gesturing at his steaming beverage and smiling.

"I have a little bit of a sweet tooth. What can I say - I am a sucker for anything chocolate. Chocolate and coffee combines two of my favorite things: caffeine and . . ."

"Endorphins?" Sara asked playfully.

"I was going to say sugar." Gil chuckled nervously as he felt his face blush. "You know, there are only trace amounts of tryptophan and phenylethylamine in chocolate, so it seems unlikely that the ecstatic feelings associated with chocolate consumption are actually caused by an increase in serotonin levels in the brain." He was rambling, he knew, but Sara continued to smile at him. She had such a beautiful smile . . .

"I noticed you had chocolate covered grasshoppers in your office. Combining more favorite things?" She asked.

"With all the mess in my office, I am surprised that you noticed them," he said.

"Well, I do consider myself an observant person, but they were hard to miss next to your jarred fetal pig." Her eyes clouded over a moment, her mind in deep concentration. "And, if I remember correctly, you had a quite impressive butterfly collection framed on your wall."

Grissom was intrigued. "What else do you remember, Miss Sidle? Let's put these powers of observation to the test."

Sara accepted his challenge. "Let's see. There were two copies of "An introduction to the Study of Insects" by Borror and DeLong on the floor next to your desk. On the bookshelf there was a copy of "Stokes Butterfly Book," "Simon and Schuster's Guide to Insects," and Shakespeare's _Henry V_. There was a poster on the east wall detailing the maturation of the Black blow fly, and green-bottle flies were pinned to what I assume was a recent regression – maybe what you were helping the SFPD with? You also had a charming coffee mug labeled "#1 Bugman," which I can only imagine was a gift of some sort, and four sharpened pencils next to the daily crossword puzzle. Oh, there were five-six boxes on the floor, all with a return address of 18 Osman Ct. in Las Vegas." She paused, and Grissom couldn't hide the full blown grin that was forming on his face.

"Is that all?" He teased. He was impressed with her recall abilities, but he was more taken with how much he was enjoying their conversation. She was brilliant for sure, but there was something about her that just made him feel . . . well, just feel.

"I am sure I would be able to identify more if it wasn't all in boxes." She thought for a moment. "Oh, and that day you were wearing khaki pants, brown leather shoes and a cerulean blue collared shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. I remember how that shirt made your eyes look incredibly blue and warm."

As if caught in the memory, Sara stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the clear blue image of herself that they reflected. She stared longer than she should have; she found it difficult to pull herself away from Grissom's gaze. When he looked away first, she was able to compose herself.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare you down. It's just, um, you really do have remarkable eyes."

"Thank you." Grissom didn't know what else to say. He forced himself to make eye contact once again, and gave her a small smile. He needed to change the direction of the conversation. He was extremely flattered by her compliment, and her stare had ignited a desire in him that he didn't realize he was capable of. _This is inappropriate, Gil. Get a hold of yourself._

"So, Sara, you said you were interested in forensics. What exactly do you want to pick my brain about?"


	4. Chapter 4

Grissom retrieved his glasses from the podium and placed them gently in his shirt pocket. "That is all for today. Please have your report on the history of forensic ballistics ready for next class."

Grissom rushed to collect his belongings and leave the lecture hall. Two weeks had passed since he and Sara had gone to the coffee shop, and he was desperately trying to avoid being alone with her again. He made sure that the rest of their conversation that day was strictly forensics-related and professional. He knew that if he could make it through his seminar without another social encounter, he would be able to maintain the professional boundaries needed between professor and student. Not to mention maintain the boundaries between a man and a woman who was fifteen years his junior. The catch was, he missed spending time with her.

"Dr. Grissom, are you in a hurry?"

Gil glanced up to see Sara observing him, a questioning look on her face. "No, why?" He felt like an idiot. He was obviously shoving items into his bag quickly - some of his papers had even fallen to the floor.

She laughed. "No reason. Just that I half expect you to grow wings and fly out of here, that's all."

"I'm just trying to be efficient with my time."

Sara's smile faded, and she looked around the room to see if the other students had cleared the lecture hall. They had.

"Are you avoiding me?"

Grissom felt as though his heart stopped. "No, of course not."

"It's just, after we met for coffee and I made that comment about your eyes, you seem different. I wanted to say that, if you felt it was inappropriate of me, I apologize. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Grissom was in panic mode. How was he supposed to respond? He couldn't explain to her that he was the one being inappropriate. He couldn't tell her that she was making him feel things he hadn't felt in a long time. And now she was apologizing to him! He was caught between making an admission of his feelings and letting her believe that she had offended him. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

Sara waited a few moments for him to respond. When he didn't, she sighed and dropped her gaze to the floor. "Okay. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me – it was very helpful." She looked at him one last time with sadness in her eyes, and gave him a small smile.

And with that she left.

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Sara paced in her small apartment, sipping her third Sam Light and listening to Bjork's 'Human Behavior.' She was known for picking up any debut album she could get her hands on, but she found this one in particular very compelling.

_Be ready to get confused_

_There's definitely no logic to human behavior_

As someone who had spent her life looking for answers in the rational world, Sara had always had difficulty relating to others on various levels. She knew that she could pretend to be social and make friends like everyone else, but there was no compelling reason to do so. Sara felt alone no matter what she did. She was able to play the part of a "normal" student, but she always felt ostracized by her fellow classmates. Sara felt that she was different from everybody else. The joy that others derived from gossiping or talking about the latest make-up or break-up didn't interest her at all. The superficial relationships that she saw forming around her appeared forced and unnecessary.

She couldn't do it. It took so much effort for Sara to play along in the social world. She hadn't confided in anyone since she was a child, and learned at an early age that sometimes it's better to keep feelings inside.

She took a long, deep swig of her beer.

Sara forced her thoughts to drift elsewhere, settling on the embarrassing turn of events that had left her analyzing her behavior alone and buzzed on a Friday night. _'You really do have remarkable eyes.'_ Sara groaned.

Dr. Grissom. He was an attractive man, and brilliant couldn't even begin to describe his intellect. And those eyes – she couldn't help it. He was so mysterious and intriguing. And sexy. Whenever she was in a room with him she could feel her heart racing, and inevitably her skin would become warm and tingly under the weight of his stare.

She had been direct, as usual, and asked him point blank if he was avoiding her. _Another piece of evidence to demonstrate your lack of social skills, Sidle_. Ultimately she knew that she needed to offer him an apology – he was her professor after all. _Well, technically he is a visiting professor,_ Sara reminded herself. _And I am only here for summer classes. _Sara shook the thought from her mind. Dr. Grissom had made it clear that he didn't want to be around her – his silence said as much.

She knew that she crossed the line, of that she was sure. She was, however, taken aback by his reaction today. Every part of her believed that he felt the same attraction to her as she did to him. Didn't he?

Sara was startled out of her thoughts by a knock at the door. She didn't remember ordering delivery, and no one would come over without calling first.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Sara. Gil Grissom."

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"Okay. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me last week – it was very helpful."

He watched her leave the lecture hall quickly, never looking back at him to see his lips attempt the words he longed to tell her.

Grissom felt terrible. Why couldn't he think of something to say? Why did he have to hurt her feelings? He was afraid. He was afraid of losing control. Everything in his life thus far had been meticulously planned and organized. He lived for his books and his work and his Sunday New York Times. They all satisfied him. Before he met her everything in his life had been certain.

_Get a hold of yourself, Gil. You just met her.  
_

It didn't matter. Sara Sidle, in a few short weeks, changed everything. The part of him that was closed off now felt vulnerable, exposed. He tried for so long to hide himself away and avoid revealing himself to anyone. In fact, he never really cared to do so. In his minimal experience, Grissom had found people to be superficial and judgmental. The thought of connecting with someone or having a relationship seemed nonessential. There had been a few times when he genuinely enjoyed the company of another, but no one had ever moved him to advance a relationship beyond mere acquaintance.

And now there was Sara. Grissom understood that he barely knew her. The analytical part of his brain kept reminding him that it was mere attraction, a biological response to a beautiful woman. But he couldn't help but feel that it went beyond biology. Of course he was attracted to her, but he had been attracted to many women in the past. With Sara, though, he felt . . . free. He felt that he could say anything to her, tell her his hopes, dreams, and fears, and she would accept him. It was strange to him that his feelings could overwhelm the rational, analytical part of his brain that guided him for so many years. It was strange to him that he could feel this way after spending such a short amount of time with her.

Grissom couldn't rationalize his feelings, and that scared him. He knew that he should go back to his austere apartment and prepare for his next class, and every part of his mind was screaming at him to collect his belongings and head for his car.

Gil, frightened but determined, secured his bag on his shoulder and left the classroom in search of Sara.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"It's me, Sara. Gil Grissom."

Sara eyed the peephole before letting him in, almost surprised to see his form at her doorstep. Why was he here? She had to admit, he looked amazing in his black collared shirt and jeans, but even his casual appearance didn't make her feel any more at ease.

She opened the door. "Hey, Dr. Grissom." Sara moved to the side so he could enter her apartment, but Grissom lingered in the doorway, a bewildered look on his face. Was he looking for a more blatant invitation? "Come in."

"Just Grissom is fine, Sara." Gil was sweating. He could barely breathe, but he willed himself to stay in the apartment and say what he came to say. Which, unfortunately, he hadn't figured out yet.

"Okay. So, can I get you something? A beer?" Sara hoped he would accept her invitation so she could have an excuse to get another herself. This was going to be interesting.

"Sure, that would be nice." Was he stuttering? And using the word 'nice?' Surely his brain had a capacity for larger adjectives. He just didn't know any at the moment. He couldn't think clearly.

She looked beautiful. He noticed she was wearing what he assumed were her pajamas: a pair of short, lavender cotton shorts, a white tank, and a pair of plastic flip flops. His mouth went dry at the view of so much of her skin. He noticed a small tattoo on her ankle, which only served to draw his attention up the length of her exquisite legs. She was saying something to him, but his brain had difficulty focusing on the words.

"Grissom?" He was staring at her. She knew that she looked disheveled and tired, and hoped that he wasn't put off by the dark circles that had taken permanent residence under her eyes.

"Yes?" He pulled himself together, and took the beer from her outstretched hand.

"I asked how you found my apartment? I'm not listed." Sara was sure he must have gotten her information from her class contact list, but wanted to hear him explain it nonetheless.

"Your information sheet. From class. You listed your address, but not your phone number." Did that sound as stalker-ish to her as it did to him? _Damn, it seemed so natural at the time_, he thought.

"Oh, yeah." Her theory confirmed, Sara took a moment to observe his reaction to her question. He looked awkward. Then again, she imagined she did as well.

They stood for a moment in silence, Grissom trying to find his words and Sara trying to figure out what he was thinking. She spoke first.

"What are you doing here?" It came out more accusatory and abrasive than she had intended, and she watched as he flinched almost imperceptibly at her words.

"Sara, I, um, wanted to apologize to you for earlier today. You caught me off guard." He took a sip of his cold ale, and tried to slow down his heart rate and breathe normally.

Sara eyed him cautiously. His words seemed sincere, but she had the feeling that he was holding something back. He looked angry, not with her exactly, but with himself. It was at this moment that Sara realized exactly how self-conscious Gil Grissom was. And guarded. He appeared cool and collected most of the time, but Sara surmised that it was a natural defense mechanism. She couldn't help but find this new insight into his character endearing.

She motioned for him to sit in one of her wooden kitchen chairs, and she sat at the opposite end of the table. Sara watched as Grissom fidgeted with his hands nervously after he placed them on the dining table. He took another long swig of his beer, almost emptying the bottle, and Sara knew that he was extremely uncomfortable. She was nervous, mostly because she was uncertain where this was going, but he appeared as though he didn't want to be there. Or, at least, a part of him didn't want to be there.

"Are you normally _on_ guard?" She asked, and watched him fold his arms across his chest. He was definitely on the defensive. He looked as though he were ready for battle, his blue eyes a steely gray and his usual smile more of a grimace than anything else.

"Yes." He admitted. "Sometimes I'm not as articulate as . . ."

"You seem to articulate yourself fine in class," Sara interrupted. Her fourth beer was taking effect and she was becoming bolder. She recognized this, and set the bottle down on the table. He was trying to explain himself to her, but she didn't want him to feel better so easily. Actually, she was interested in getting a rise out of him – maybe if his emotions took over and he just said what he was thinking, it would be better for them both.

"Yes, well that is presenting and teaching information. Facts. When it comes to social settings or, um, less academic topics I am not very… astute."

"Less academic topics? You mean like responding to a woman who tells you that you have beautiful eyes?"

Grissom knew that she was direct, but he felt like he was in an interrogation room with a piercing light shining in his eyes. He thought he would be able to deliver an apology and leave, making himself feel better for the way he treated her. _Is that true, Gil? Or did you come here with a different goal in mind? _Grissom willed this thought away.

"I would say that topic qualifies, yes." He met her eyes across the table, trying to gauge her reaction. Nothing.

Grissom was conflicted. He knew that whatever part of him brought him here tonight had an agenda beyond apologizing. He wanted to see her. He wanted to talk to her. But now, when it came to actually being here and spending time with her, his social routine was taking over and he was avoiding disclosing any part of his emotional self. He felt like a coward and, as the silence continued, he defaulted to his normal fight or flight response to an anxiety-provoking situation.

"Look Sara, I'm sorry for making you feel as though you were acting inappropriately. I hope we can still be, um, are able to work together in class." There. She would accept his apology, and he could leave. He felt like a coward.

Sara was amused. He wanted to make himself feel better for his behavior, so he came to her house to apologize? Sara wondered if he even realized how ridiculous that sounded. She needed to make a choice. Accept his apology and let him leave, or try to provoke him into telling her why he was really here. Sara was always up for a challenge.

"Dr. Grissom, are you really here to apologize for your behavior today?"

Grissom was confused, and couldn't help becoming increasingly frustrated by the situation. She wasn't supposed to question him, she was supposed to show him the door.

"Sara what . . ."

"I thought you might be apologizing for avoiding me, and then lying about it." Sara watched as Grissom's expression turned from shock to something akin to horror. She would have laughed if circumstances had been different. She smirked instead.

"Sara, I told you, I …"

"Are you attracted to me?" Sara was glad to get the question out in the open, despite the possible ramifications.

Grissom initially thought he misheard her. It wasn't until he waited a few moments and noticed her anticipatory expression that he realized he heard correctly. "Sara…" It was all he could manage to say.

"It's a simple question, 'yes' or 'no.' It doesn't take a lot of articulation."

"It isn't that simple, Sara," Grissom replied, a twinge of irritation in his voice. "You are a student and I am your teacher. Anything else between us would be inappropriate." He needed to leave, to escape this apartment and what he felt was turning into an inquisition. He couldn't have this conversation, and he was becoming more turbulent with each passing second.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

Grissom tried to steady his breathing and calm himself, but with little effect. He needed to let out the many emotions that had taken over his body and mind.

'Yes, Sara, I am attracted to you. But it doesn't change anything. Saying it out loud doesn't make it any more appropriate." He was breathing heavier now, and he imagined his face had reddened with the exertion of admitting something so personal. In that moment he realized he was trying to convince himself with his words, not Sara.

Sara felt triumphant in an odd way; she was relieved that she hadn't been wrong about the attraction being reciprocated. Despite her "triumph," she hadn't gained any ground. He obviously convinced himself that he couldn't be with her. She needed to make a choice: give him an out, or challenge the fact that he "couldn't" be with her. She didn't want to try and persuade him.

"Thank you for being honest, Dr. Grissom. I both appreciate and accept your apology. I also wanted to say that I'm sorry too. I crossed the line, and I hope that things won't be awkward in class."

Sara rose from her chair and headed for the door, signaling to him that it was time for him to go. _Here's your out, Grissom_. She sighed.

"Sara." Grissom felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. She was letting him off the hook, he knew, but he couldn't let it end like this. He followed her to the door, and waited for her to turn around before he spoke again. "I hope that, I mean, that this doesn't have to, um . . ."

He gazed into her eyes, which revealed both hurt and resignation. What was he doing? Why was he letting this go? _Get out of here now, Gil._ _But_ _I can't leave things this way. I need to tell her . . ._

"You're amazing, Sara. You're brilliant and beautiful and…"

"Stop." Sara cut him off. If he wasn't going to leave, she was going to lay everything out on the table.

"Dr. Grissom, you say that whatever attraction we feel is inappropriate. Do you think coming to my home late at night to talk to me is appropriate? You're telling me I am amazing and that you're attracted to me. I haven't known you for very long, but I doubt this is something you do regularly. How can you tell me that this isn't appropriate and then act inappropriately? It's confusing."

Sara knew that she rendered him speechless. He eyes were still fixed on her, a mix of sadness and fear and desire. Sara didn't wait for one emotion to take over.

She leaned into him and pressed her lips softly against his, enjoying the warmth of him for the brief seconds she allowed herself contact. In an instant it was over and she pulled away.

Awkward seconds passed. Sara wanted him to say something or at least have some reaction, but he appeared incapable of either facial expression or speech. Resigned, she opened the door and stepped aside for him to exit.

"Goodnight, Dr. Grissom."

She watched him walk out of her apartment slowly and turn to face her. Sara waited a few more moments for him to speak, but all that greeted her was silence.

She closed the door.


End file.
